


Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery of the Engraved Spoon

by kylejoseph



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylejoseph/pseuds/kylejoseph
Summary: Sherlock and Watson are visited by a man who wishes for them to solve a most unusual mystery.Audio Version Chapter 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPmEnBaiNrMAudio Version Chapter 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OI5Shkh40EAAudio Version Chapter 3: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACAJ5FDWku0
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. A Man Comes to Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for reading my third fan fiction. If you like this please check out my original works here:
> 
> https://tinyurl.com/KyleJosephWebsite  
> https://tinyurl.com/KyleJosephYouTube

12 August 1888

There are quite a few of the adventures I have found myself in that were not recorded in my earlier tomes of work. This was not due to their inherent dullness, of course, but mainly because there are only so many hours in each day, dear readers. The one I am about to describe was relatively short in the time it took to be solved but that doesn't make it any less interesting to myself or possibly you, so I shall recount it here in its entirety.

It was on a dreary and rainy day in mid-August in the summer of 1888 that I, Dr. John H. Watson, found myself in our domicile at 221B Baker Street in the company of my friend and best compatriot, consulting detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I was seated in my very favorite armchair and my companion was preoccupied with his violin in his bedroom, the graceful tones of Felix Mendelssohn drifting up through the hallway.

Sherlock had told me in the past he was particularly fond of German music, moreso than Italian or French, and Mendelssohn was one of his favorites. I remember a time not so long ago when Sherlock attended a concert of German works given by Pablo de Sarasate at St. James's Hall. "It is introspective, and I want to introspect," said he.

It was not my place to decide how and when my friend introspected in his rather eccentric manner. He did that of his own accord and it was my role to ensure he received the peaceful time he required. Despite my enjoyment of his skill with the violin, many of our neighbors were not so accommodating. I had received several complaints over the years when Sherlock insisted on playing at three or four in the morning but I always reminded them there was no stopping my companion from doing as he wished despite their repeated protestations.

Far from being the middle of the night, it was now early afternoon on a Sunday. As the droplets of light rain pattered the windows in our sitting room where Sherlock Holmes normally received his clients I looked up from my copy of the relatively new gothic novella I was thoroughly enjoying, "Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" as the violin music had suddenly ceased. This was unusual as he had only been carrying on for a little over half of an hour and for him to stop so suddenly was not in his typical way.

"Is everything okay, Sherlock?" asked I, lowering my book and resting it on the arm of my chair.

All at once, the great consulting detective appeared in the sitting room with his eyes wide and excited. "Finally!" he exclaimed as the sounds of approaching hooves could be heard through the partially open window.

"Why, who is it, Holmes?" I ejaculated with great aplomb.

"After months of dreary nothing, my good Watson, it seems we shall finally have something of interest taking place. Remain where you are, for we shall soon found ourselves visited by the noble—"

From the entrance to our apartment came a soft rap. Sherlock rushed over and flung open the door with far more enthusiasm than I had seen in him in quite some time. I found myself absolutely startled as Sherlock greeted Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, with brilliant gusto. "Mrs. Hudson!" he exclaimed. "I imagine there is someone here to see us?"

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Hudson said, standing aside to allow the newcomer to enter.

"Good afternoon," the man said as he swept into the room and gave a short bow. Mrs. Hudson pulled the door closed behind him and we could hear her departing down the stairs as the sound of her footsteps receded away. "My name is—" he began.

Sherlock Holmes could contain himself no longer. "Lord Courtesy, Earl Ignatius Matthias Percival," the detective said, taking the man's hand in his own and giving it a vigorous shake, "it's my pleasure to meet you. My name is Sherlock Holmes, this is my companion Dr. John Watson."

"My word, Holmes," said I from my place on the chair. "I've never seen you in such a state. Please, sit down before you find yourself having a heart attack!"

Doing as I asked, Sherlock Holmes took a seat in his own chair and motioned for the noble Earl to sit across from us. "I am pleased, Dr. Watson, for I know this man brings us an interesting mystery indeed."

The Earl looked quite taken aback. "But I haven't even spoken yet, how could you possibly know why I'm here? And for that matter, how did you know my identity?"

"Positively extraordinary," I exclaimed.

Sherlock rolled his hands in pure anticipation. "Watson, every time we go through this, the end result is that you realize the answer was right in front of you the entire time. But let us take the questions in reverse order, shall we? How did I know who the Lord Courtesy was? I recognized him from the papers, of course. Your picture was plastered all over last week owing to your annual birthday party held at your estate evening last. It was simply the talk of the town and one could not miss it if they tried."

I exclaimed, "I read the papers and followed them but I did not recognize this man. That was a week ago yet you remembered his face and placed it almost the moment he stepped from the hansom!"

"Remarkable," the Earl said.

"You see, nothing supernatural about it at all," said Sherlock with a smile. "Now, this leads me into the second question, how did I ascertain that the Earl is here with a large problem? That one is quite simple, my dear Watson. Why else would a man come all the way from the English countryside mere hours after his birthday party in order to consult with a detective when his own town has constables? No, my guess is that you are here because there is a mystery you believe only I can solve."

The Earl looked quite taken aback. "Right on both counts. My my, Sherlock Holmes, your reputation is well-deserved it appears."

Sherlock leaned back in his armchair and steepled his fingers. "Please, present me with your problem, and I will do everything I can to assist you."

"As you know," Earl Percival started, "my birthday party commenced last night and it went absolutely perfectly. At the end of the night, however, as the clean-up had begun and I was about to turn in for the night, my butler brought to my attention an engraved silver spoon which was found on the dining room table. Normally I would think nothing of it, you understand, but the party was relatively small, only two dozen people and none of them claimed the spoon as their own. My staff wanted to chuck it in the silverware drawer and move on, but I cannot let this be."

"Why is that?" asked I.

"Because, engraved silverware does not just appear out of nowhere, Dr. Watson," the Earl said, clearly frustrated. "The Countess believes I should let this go but I find I cannot, as I told you. It's a mystery that is gnawing away at me. Perhaps the explanation could be as simple as someone bringing it along with them and forgetting, but I don't think so. I must get to the bottom of this, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "Wonderful! We'll be along on the first train this evening. Head back home and we will join you shortly, Lord Courtesy." When the Earl had departed, looking slightly bewildered at Sherlock's enthusiasm, Sherlock said, "Watson, ask Mrs. Hudson to hail a hansom as soon as she is able. The game is afoot, and this is a mystery which will not solve itself. We will see the thing done!"


	2. Castle Windmoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson arrive at the home of Earl Ignatius Percival.

13 August 1888

At just after eight o'clock in the morning the following day, a Monday, my friend and I found ourselves departing the mighty steam engine which had delivered us from London to the small town in the English countryside which Earl Ignatius Matthias Percival called home. It was my understanding that he lived on a massive, sweeping and grandiose estate known as 'Castle Windmoor' which had been gifted to his father by Queen Victoria herself, though the origins of this story and its veracity were hotly debated. The Lord Courtesy himself gave no such indication which parts were true and which were mere fabrication.

I looked out of the window as we waited to depart the train. "My word, Holmes, this place is simply marvelous. It's like a little town all the way out here, with the Earl's mansion at the very center, like a beating heart.” From my place on the train I could see every such manner of buildings and workshops, the likes of which amazed me to my core.

As we stepped off the train and crossed the platform, I with my briefcase which Holmes had instructed me to bring along with extremely specific contents and Holmes carrying nothing but a pocket watch which was strung along his waist coast, we were greeted by a portly man wearing a bowler hat and a sharp suit. "Greetings, gentlemen," he said with a sharp English accent, "my name is Weatherby, I am the Earl's butler. Please come with me, there is a hansom waiting to bring us all to the castle. The Lord Courtesy will be most excited you have arrived."

"Quite a dour chap, isn't he?" asked I, whispering so the man would not hear.

Sherlock Holmes's face broke into a mischievous grin. "Perhaps yes, but we better stay focused on the matter at hand, Watson. I fear there is more going on here than we or even the Lord Courtesy have been led to believe, and I intend to get to the bottom of it."

My friend's overwhelming joy at this case was something I found peculiar and rather interesting. Sherlock Holmes was a normally quiet, contemplative man, and to see him in such a state was indeed unusual.

In mere moments, we were seated and the driver whipped the reins and we were off. As the train station receded into the background, through a thicket of trees the mansion was coming into clearer and clearer view. Still I was marveled by the sheer size of it, as the house stood what had to be practically scraping the clouds.

When we finally pulled into the drive, a team of servant girls and footmen were waiting to greet us. They took our bags and ushered us inside the massive double doors which served as the entrance for guests of the Earl and Countess.

"Welcome!" came a booming voice from the elegant set of stairs which lined the wall of the massive entrance hall. "So pleased you have arrived," the Lord Courtesy said.

"A pleasure to see you again, Lord Courtesy," Sherlock said.

"Please, please," said Earl Percival. "Enough with the formalities, I find it rather tiresome. You may call me Ignatius, I insist."

Looking rather taken aback, Sherlock and I both nodded our agreement. "It's fine," said he, smiling. "On the way over I already made up my mind the best way to get to the bottom of this most curious situation. I shall request that I be allowed to speak with each member of your staff—footmen and maids—and question them one-on-one."

"Does that mean you don't want me in the room?" I asked, somewhat surprised as my friend always insisted quite stubbornly upon my presence at all times.

"Yes, indeed, Watson," said Sherlock, nodding. "Please do not think this is any reflection upon yourself, merely a necessity in this case," he said cordially. "Ignatius, I feel it is best I interview the ladies of the house first, and then the gentlemen, if that pleases you."

The Lord Courtesy smiled and did as Mr. Sherlock Holmes requested, informing the butler Mr. Weatherby that he should bring in the maids one at a time. Sherlock was set up in a small room on the side of the main hall and as the first maid entered, the detective closed the door behind her. Their voices were quite low as I could not strain myself to hear them from the room in which I was located.

"Please, we will allow him to do his work. Join me in my lounge, won't you?" Ignatius asked of me. I nodded my consent that I would accompany him and we retired to a beautiful room with massive windows which spanned all the way to the ceiling and crystal chandeliers which dangled from above. We took a respite on the luxurious armchairs and Ignatius set about fetching us some tea.

He offered me a cigar which I accepted gratefully. As the smoke wafted through the room, the two of us sat and conversed in mild tones, waiting for Sherlock to see each member of the staff in turn. As the morning wore on, we dined on a light breakfast and Ignatius offered to show me around the grounds.

The driver, a tall thin man with a clean shaven face, took us around the property as Ignatius showed me everything Castle Windmoor had to offer. As I suspected on the train, the castle-turned-mansion served as the center of the town with buildings and domiciles surrounding it on both sides which swept away and across the countryside. I had no idea how much land it covered but Ignatius remained proud of all his family had built.

"We employ over three hundred people here," Ignatius said proudly as the driver circled back towards the castle. "I make sure they are well-compensated for their work. We treat our staff with dignity and respect. Twenty pounds per week for the maids and footmen, which is unheard of in this part of the country, you know."

I found that Ignatius surely held a rather high opinion of himself, but I supposed it was not entirely unwarranted. As we returned to the castle, Sherlock was beginning to interview the footmen. "Is everything okay?" asked I.

"Quite," Sherlock said before closing the door after the first footmen to enter.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon I busied myself with this and that, taking a tour of the house and visiting the servants' quarters. All of the staff were spectacularly well-dressed and groomed and would be proud to be seen in the presence of the Queen herself. Finally, when it was well into the afternoon and almost evening, Sherlock Holmes emerged from the interview room as the last footman departed. As far as I knew, he had taken no meals or breaks during the entire process and I imagined he was quite exhausted. If he was, he showed no sign of it.

"Well?" asked I, approaching him. "Did you solve the mystery?"

Looking completely dejected, Sherlock said, "It seems, Watson, this was entirely a mistake of my own making. We came all this way only to be unable to locate an owner and with no more answers as to the origins of this engraved spoon."

"A spoon does not just appear out of thin air, Sherlock Holmes!" Earl Ignatius Percival said, storming over to us. "You plan to give up and admit defeat, just like that?"

"I know when I am beaten," Sherlock said. "If there is some mysterious plot, I have been unable to deduce it."

I had never heard such a thing uttered from the mouth of the consulting detective in all my time with him. Lost for words, I merely allowed the Lord Courtesy to assist us in returning to the hansom as we climbed aboard and set off for the train station.

"And the thing is done?" asked I, sure I was quite misunderstanding.

Sherlock's face had never before quite been so defeated as it was now. It pained me to see him in such a state of dismay. "My dear Watson, there is not always some grand mystery to be solved. Perhaps my boredom made me too complacent in this regard, believing in clues when there were none to be found. Sometimes a spoon is just a spoon."

And with that, we returned to the train in silence.


	3. The Reveal

13 August 1888

Apologies to my dear readers as this is unfortunately where I must deviate from the normal storytelling style to which everyone has become accustomed. As Sherlock Holmes, now back to his usual aloof and emotionless self, and I had departed Castle Windmoor and left the flustered Earl behind us, I was not present to document the proceedings which took place inside the castle from my own personal recollections.

Instead, I have obtained the following transcript provided by one Emma Michaels, an experienced and hard-working handmaid serving the Lord Courtesy's estate as the Countess' personal lady's maid. A petite woman of only twenty-five, Miss Michaels was known throughout the house for her kind, caring nature and demure attitude. It was this very reason, which I came to later understand, that Sherlock Holmes selected her in that interview room to be his personal eyes and ears in the castle.

\---

Transcript of Events (Documented by Inspector G. Lestrade of Scotland Yard)

SHERLOCK: Good morning, Miss Michaels. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective for Scotland Yard. There is a case to be solved in this castle and I believe you are the one to assist me in doing so.

EMMA: I'm not sure what I can do for you, Mr. Holmes.

SHERLOCK: On the contrary, I feel you can do a great deal for me. Tell me, what do you know of the engraved silver spoon which appeared evening last during the Lord Courtesy's birthday party?

EMMA: I don't know...

SHERLOCK: What know you of the footman, Gregory Wickett?

EMMA: Not much. I know him a bit, I mean.

SHERLOCK: The other maids say you know him very well. All too well.

EMMA: He fancies me, I suppose.

SHERLOCK: If you are not careful, Miss Michaels, you will be drawn into Wickett's plot. Do you understand what I am saying to you? Assist me and I will ensure you are absolved of any wrongdoing in this.

\---

As the train departed the station bound for London, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I remained on the platform. I was quite bewildered at what he planned to do but my friend had that certain look in his eye—when he is onto something but for a cause that is known only to him.

"You see but you do not observe, Watson," said he as we rushed from the train platform and back onto the road.

"Why, Holmes, it's nearly three kilometers back to the castle. How shall we arrive there, on foot?" I asked, perplexed.

"Of course not!" said Sherlock, turning to spot a hansom coming around the bend in the road just as we set upon it. "We will be delivered, but this time in secret, away from the prying eyes of one Mr. Gregory Wickett."

I considered this notion very briefly. "But Holmes, there was no one by that name introduced to me for the duration of our stay. The Lord Courtesy took me on a tour of the grounds and the entire castle while you were locked inside that interview room and we never met such a fellow."

"Ah, Watson," Sherlock said as we ran to the hansom and climbed aboard. "You saw me disappear into that room early in the morning and emerge late in the afternoon. What you do not realize is that the room into which the Earl allowed me to retire has, in fact, two methods of ingress and egress. One is the door with which you are familiar—it leads into the main hall. But, my dear Watson, there is a second door which exits directly into the servants' hall. This allows that room to serve dual functions—one for a bit of peace and quiet but also to entertain small groups of guests which the main dining room may overwhelm."

I gasped with utter surprise. "You mean to tell me, Holmes, that you were not in that room all day?"

"In fact I was not," Sherlock said. "That briefcase I insisted you bring along was not for you, it was for me. I secreted from it one of my disguises and slipped into my persona once I was shut in the room during my interview with Miss Michaels, based on the words from the previous interviews. Many of them suspected one of the footman, Mr. Gregory Wickett, and believed Miss Michaels played a part. You may remember the castle was quite busy, as it always is, with people coming and going from the servants' hall. No one would notice a well-dressed man and, indeed, no one questioned me."

"And what did this bit of subterfuge gain you, Holmes?" I asked as we approached the castle once more.

Holmes reached into the briefcase and withdrew my pistol, which he handed across to me. "Keep it at the ready, Watson. I doubt very much that Mr. Wickett will come quietly."

"But what is this whole thing about? Where did that spoon come from?" asked I.

"Keep up with me, Watson!" Sherlock said, jumping from the hansom and checking his pocket watch. "We have only but mere moments before the action is upon us."

As we rushed around the side and towards the back of Castle Windmoor, I was completely and utterly lost as to what my friend was talking about. The gravel crunched under our feet as we gave chase, but to whom or what I did not know. As we rounded the back of the castle, Sherlock motioned for me to slow and I did so, following behind him at a slower pace. I could hear voices coming from somewhere up ahead, but I was unable to make out what was being said.

"Quiet now, good doctor," Sherlock said, motioning for silence with one thin finger. As we crept closer to a stone archway, I realized that the voices were coming into sharper focus now. They had to be just around the corner from us.

"You will not ruin everything we have worked for," a voice said from nearby. "That bumbling old fool thinks he can pay us half what we're worth and no one will try and stop him. Just wait until we've cleaned out his entire supply of silverware!"

My eyes went wide as I realized what was being said. Someone, the identity of the person unknown to me, was clearly in the midst of a plot to steal every bit of silverware from Earl Percival's castle.

"Please," a woman said. "Let's just leave, get out of here, before anyone uncovers your plan."

"My plan?" the man hissed this time. "It is our plan, and you shall not leave me to take the fall alone. There's no need to worry any longer, that fool of a detective is gone and sooner or later the Earl will forget my mistake and move on with his life. By the time anyone knows what is happening it shall be too late!"

Sherlock and I burst forth from the stone arch, my pistol trained on the devilish man. "That was an admission if I've ever heard one, wouldn't you say, Earl Percival?"

From the other side of the seemingly empty yard, Earl Ignatius Matthias Percival emerged, his wife, the Countess, beside him. "I heard the entire thing. You were absolutely right, Mr. Holmes. He believed every word of it!"

"You hadn't given up!" I ejaculated with realization. "You merely intended for Mr. Wickett to think we had gone and allow him to make his move."

"Yes, indeed, Watson," said Sherlock, motioning to two local constables who also made their presence known. They seized Wickett by his wrists and bound his arms behind him, leading him away.

"What shall we do with the woman?" one of them asked, pointing at Miss Emma Michaels.

"Without her valuable assistance," Sherlock Holmes said, "I could never have solved this case. Or at least, it should have taken me far longer. In my disguise her presence gave me an air of authenticity, allowing me to slip through the servants' quarters virtually unseen. I observed the staff as they went about their routines, and it didn't take long before I watched as Mr. Wickett pocketed a small handful of silverware when he believed quite erroneously that no one was watching."

"My word!" the Earl exclaimed and the Countess looked quite taken aback.

"He planned to steal all of it? Surely we would have noticed eventually?" said she.

"You may have," Sherlock admitted as he steepled his fingers. "It would have taken some time in a castle as big as this. Selling the pilfered silverware would be another challenge, so the solution was quite simple. Melt the silver down and engrave it to the point where it would be unrecognizable, even to its former owner. This done, it could be sold around the country, perhaps even the world, to unsuspecting buyers. Relatively little work but a far greater amount of money to be made. If only he hadn't left one of the finished product on the table by mistake as he was laying out the real silverware for dinner. I expect he had it with him to show Miss Michaels their progress and ensure she didn't second guess the entire plot."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes!" the Earl exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace the consulting detective.

Sherlock Holmes deftly avoided the gesture and nodded. "You are most welcome, Earl Percival," said he, "but the gratitude is all mine. This was a tangled web, if I do say so myself, and I most enjoyed myself as I unraveled it. Once I saw Mr. Wickett taking the silverware, I knew yours and the engraved spoon had to be one and the same. The rest was elementary."

That evening, Sherlock Holmes and I were back aboard the last evening train heading towards the comfort of our home at 221B Baker Street. "I am still overwhelmed at how you managed to solve this case, Holmes," said I.

Sherlock lit his pipe and leaned back, savoring the flavor of it. "As I have told you many times, Watson, 'once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.' His plan was a good one, I shall admit. I was completely fooled until I saw the deed done, then it clicked in my mind. We could have run a nitric acid test to ensure the silverware were matches but far easier it would be to hear the man admit it for himself. I told Miss Michaels we would depart and then return, told her where to stand, and made sure we arrived in time to hear it."

As the train rattled along the tracks, I took up a long pipe of my own and relaxed with my friend as we enjoyed the ride back to London.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for reading my third fan fiction. If you like this please check out my original works here:
> 
> https://tinyurl.com/KyleJosephWebsite  
> https://tinyurl.com/KyleJosephYouTube


End file.
